


Of Glowing Eyes, Scars, and Bravery in the Face of Mistakes

by Diary



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Fail, Bisexual Derek Hale, Bisexual Jordan Parrish, Bisexual Sheriff Stilinski, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Developing Relationship, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship/Love, Holding Hands, Interspecies Friendship, Interspecies Romance, Jordan Parrish-centric, Late Night Conversations, Lydia Martin & Jordan Parrish Friendship, Minor Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, Past Child Abuse, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Scars, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski Feels, Wendigo Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 10:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. Jordan Parrish and Noah Stilinski agree having sex was a mistake. Naturally, more sex and falling in love ensues. Complete.





	Of Glowing Eyes, Scars, and Bravery in the Face of Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

**Present**

Deputy Parrish brings Raf coffee and an egg sandwich.

“More than ready to see me go, huh?”

“I’m sure you’ll be back soon enough,” is the polite response.

Sliding his laptop in its case, he sighs. He knows the kid is one-step away from starting to carry his (Raf’s) stuff out to the car and loading it up for him. “I did my job.”

A puzzled look crosses the deputy’s face. “You saved Stiles’s life. Everyone knows it was justified, and everyone is grateful, sir.”

He isn’t surprised this is where Parrish’s mind went. He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that. During the investigation into Stilinski, I was doing my job.”

“Your job was to try to remove a dedicated sheriff who’s excellent at his job.”

“No, my job was to see if your sheriff ever engaged in corruption or dereliction of duty.”

“Sheriff Stilinski never has and never will.”

Parrish doesn’t know he knows, but both he and Parrish know Stilinski _has_ gone against protocol, covered up crimes, and lied numerous times to his higher-ups. He wonders if Parrish knowing exactly what Stilinski does about whatever in the hell is actually going on in this town is what causes him to justify both to himself and others these facts or if the fact it’s Stilinski himself that causes such devotion and loyalty.

He truly hopes it isn’t the latter.

“I better get going. Walk me to my car.”

The kid doesn’t even stop to think about why or seem to feel any resentment. He simply nods, takes the coffee and egg sandwich, and follows. When they get there, he opens the trunk for Raf, puts the food in the passenger seat, sets the coffee in the cup holder, and recloses the door.

“Remind me again how old you are.”

A brief look of frustration and resentment does cross Parrish’s face at this. “I just turned twenty-five. Aside from acing all my tests, before coming here, I served-”

“That wasn’t me doubting your abilities, deputy.”

Parrish doesn’t exactly look as if he believes him.

Probably fair, he concedes. He doesn’t doubt the kid’s abilities, but he does worry about other things inherent in Parrish’s youth and largely amiable personality.  

Closing the trunk, he goes over and opens the driver’s door. “Part of the reason I doubted Stilinski is due to the fact he and I have a lot in common. I, uh, admit some of my bias came from projection. For him, it was his wife’s death that drove him into problematic drinking. For me, it was a combination of various factors, one of them being, my time in law enforcement here exposed me to things I still can’t explain.”

There’s subtle sympathy on Parrish’s face, but Parrish stays quiet.

“I don’t know if you know all that he knows. I sure as hell don’t. But, uh, I do know some other things.”

By now, Stiles would either be flailing or calmly tearing him down. Stilinski himself would be wary and potentially angry. He isn’t exactly sure what to do with Parrish’s- Parrish apparently doesn’t have any idea what Raf might be hinting at, but he’s not particularly confused, either.

“I’m just going to lay this out: There’s a good chance you’re misreading him on some important things. Noah Stilinski isn’t the type to go to bed with anyone he’d be ashamed of other people knowing he did, and if he wasn’t willing to deal with others knowing about potential conflict of interest, he wouldn’t have-”

He sees Parrish realising exactly where this is going, and he adds, “Don’t.” Getting in the car, he looks up. “I’m leaving in five minutes. He expects you to find someone else. Or just lose interest. It’s not that he isn’t serious or that he’s worried for himself, it’s that he’d never ask a kid half his age to open themselves up to questions and insinuations that could follow them their whole career, and he’d never ask them to commit to someone like him, who can’t give them so many things that someone closer to their own age could.”

“Goodbye, Deputy Parrish.” Closing the door, he drives away.

…

**Past**

Looking through the peephole, Parrish represses a groan.

Sheriff Stilinski, he’s quickly learned, doesn’t interact on a deeply personal level with his deputies, and therefore, he doesn’t judge personal habits and living arrangements. There’s a chance he wouldn’t even if he did, but- the apartment is messy, messy in a way it’s taken over a year for him to become accustomed to, and now, here he is with old training kicking in. When your CO dropped by, and this could happen at any time, you didn’t have a speck of dust anywhere in the room, and everything was exactly where it was supposed to be, or else.

He opens the door.

There’s no point in asking for just a minute. He couldn’t get the apartment cleaned in under sixty seconds, no matter what he is, and more importantly, the sheriff is probably here about the fact, oh, yeah, he’s something, but no one, least of all him, knows what.

The sheriff’s kid is best friends with a werewolf. The not-felon that he's sure Stiles has a crush on, Derek Hale, is a werewolf. Several other classmates of Stiles are werewolves, and one of them, he thinks one of the girls, is a werecoyote. Pretty, kind Lydia Martin is a banshee and, he’s convinced, psychic in ways having nothing to do with death. Chris Argent hunts supernatural creatures, but he’d gruffly insisted there was a code, and only supernatural people actively threatening humans were targeted.

It seems the sheriff is fine with all this. If he didn’t know from the beginning, he’s adjusted since finding out.

He's still probably about to lose his job. Having his kid hanging out with the supernatural and having to deal with semi to outright vigilantes like Argent are one thing, but having a deputy who survived being burned alive without even a scratch and attacked a human deputy in the middle of the police station is likely where the line is drawn.

A brief smile crosses the sheriff’s face as he looks around the messy apartment, and this only makes things worse.

As much as he likes Stiles, he doesn’t want his boss comparing him to his boss’s son. Stiles is a cute kid with no brain-to-mouth filter, little ambition beyond surviving (which, given everything, he will acknowledge: Fair), and someone the sheriff feels a constant need to protect.

I’ve been on my own since seventeen, he sometimes wants to tell people. I can run ten miles in under an hour. I know basic first aid. There isn’t a weapon I can’t handle. My grades weren’t great in school, but when it comes to book smarts, I’m average. It may not seem like it, but I do have a fair amount of street smarts. My being good with kids isn’t because I am one, it’s because I remember when I was, and I try to treat everyone the way I’d liked to be treated.

“How are you holding up?”

“Good. I’m, uh, sorry about knocking Deputy Shelton’s filing out of her hands. That was an honest accident.”

After a quiet chuckle, a frown crosses the sheriff’s face. “What happened?” He nods towards Parrish’s hand.

“Oh.”

Well, if he wasn’t going to lose his job before-

Lifting it up, he takes off the bandage. “I wanted to see if I’d heal instantly.”

He’s aware he could have lied. It’s a tiny, thin cut, and after he disinfected it, he didn’t need to put a bandage on. If he hadn’t, the sheriff might not have even noticed. He could have made up some story about some accident or likely even just got away with, ‘I don’t know.’ One thing everyone in law enforcement quickly learns is there are people who truly can acquire cuts and bruises and have absolutely no idea how they did so. Usually, the answer is it happened in their sleep, a pet did it, or they cut themselves shaving or fixing food and just didn’t register it happening.

Lying to Sheriff Stilinski, however, goes against everything he knows and believes to be right.

The sheriff sighs. “No more tests on your own.”

He nods.

“We’re trying to locate everyone in the Deadpool. I’m, ah, I’m not exactly sure where we go from there. Some of them, they’re going to want to leave, and even though- no one has the right to drive them out,” Sheriff Stilinski tiredly declares. “But I can’t blame them for wanting to get the hell out and go somewhere where they’ll hopefully never have to deal with something like this again. We’re going to try to help them. Give those who want to stay and will accept it whatever protection we can offer. What about you?”

He finds himself offended by the question, but if there’s any hope he’ll still have his job come tomorrow, he has to remember his tone.

“Sir, I’m staying, and whether I still have a job tomorrow or not, I’m going to try to help these people. You’re right. No one has the right to drive them out. And I’m not letting anyone drive me out, either. I was a soldier, sheriff, and I take my oath of protect and serve so that others may live in safety just as seriously as you do.”

A full smile blooms across the sheriff’s face, and he's aware he should probably let Deputy Clarke set him up on a date. He can find a nice girl or boyfriend, and the feelings he just now realised he has as he’s talking to the person he has them for will one day be gone as quickly as they snuck in.

“Were you worried about your job? You don’t need to be. Normally, um, I’d have something more to say about a deputy beating up another deputy in the middle of the station, but you know what? Him trying to burn you alive first more than gives you a pass. Just don’t do something like that without another very good excuse ever again, and if you do, try to watch out for Amie the next time.”

“Yes, sir. I won’t,” he promises.

“Good.” The sheriff clasps his shoulder. “If you want tomorrow off, however-”

“My shift starts at nine,” he interjects. “I’ll be there.”

The sheriff nods. “Just don’t overdo things, deputy. I know you want to prove yourself to everyone, and I do get that. But sometimes, when crazy things happen, people need some time. If you do, take it. I’m going to trust that you will.”

“Thank you.”

…

Okay, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. Now, how do you handle it, runs through his mind.

He’s had sex before, but he’d forgotten how good the feeling of a warm, solid body next to his feels.

Moreover, fully aware he’s not helping himself with this line of thought, but he knows it’s not likely the sheriff (his boss, oh God, what in the hell…) has been with many, if any, people since his wife died. Therefore, the question of how exactly the sheriff (his boss, oh God, seriously, what in the hell…) was able to make it so _good_ -

Okay, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life, and-

This would be easier to handle if he weren’t starting to find himself fighting sleep. Along with the nice feeling of being pressed against Stilinski’s hard body, Stilinski smells better than he’d ever registered, and despite how good it was, he finds himself imagining other things he’d like to do and have done to him.

Without fully meaning to, he moves his fingers up to trace the scars on Stilinski’s chest.

Sitting up, Stilinski says, “This was a mistake.”

He tries his best to bite back his hurt, anger, and all the other unpleasant, twisty feelings inside.

Sure, he’d been thinking the same thing, but this isn’t something you say to someone, especially not when you’re both still naked and in bed.

There’s a conversation of sorts he doesn’t pay much attention to, and then, Stilinski (his boss, he slept with his boss) is leaving.

For all the pros of them ending up making this mistake in his apartment such as Stiles isn’t likely to walk in (though, he wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles does know where he lives) and no werecreatures are going to smell what was done, he knows the sheriff might have paused at going so far as to kick him out, and maybe, this would have helped in them having the conversation they actually needed to.

…

He’s sitting in the park with his feet in the water when Stilinski sits down next to him. “We should talk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“About what happened after Eichen.”

He tries not to sigh or groan. “With all due respect, there isn’t much to say. I don’t sleep with my bosses, and I’d be very surprised if you slept with your employees. Someone almost killed your son, and justified or not, I killed a man. Neither of us was in a great place, but I’d never intentionally take advantage of a parent’s fear and relief, and you didn’t take advantage of me. I’m not going to bring it up. That isn’t who I am. If I screw up, I’ll take the consequences. And if I advance in my job, I know it’ll be because I’ve earned it by being a good officer.”

Beside him, Stilinski slumps.

“Stiles likes you.”

He’s not sure what to make of the statement. “When he’s not terrifying me, I like him, too. He’s a good kid. Takes after you in a lot of ways.”

“So. We’re good?”

“Yes, sir. I have tomorrow off, but I’ll see you on Wednesday, sheriff.”

Clasping his shoulder, the sheriff stands. “See you, then, Deputy Parrish.”

…

**Present**

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see Lydia walk into the station. He’s usually happy to see her, but he realises, for once, beyond helping with supernatural things, she might be able to help him with personal things.

“Hey. Here for me or someone else?”

“You,” she answers with a sweet smile. “Can you take lunch?”

“Yes, I can. I’ll even buy.”

“Not hungry,” she says. “Grab your sandwich, and let’s go to the woods.”

…

“Allison had trouble talking about certain feelings she had, too.”

He looks over.

“I’m hoping it’s me. Is it?”

“No,” he answers. “And it’s not your age. I have to keep things vague, but it’s a co-worker. And there are other complications. I fell for them before you and I started to really get to know each other.”

Making a small sound, she clasps their fingers together. “That’s okay, I can work with vague. Tell me. When I get over you and find someone new, you can listen to me.”

He smiles. “I’d like that.”

“Good.”

She waits, and eventually, he manages to say, “There’s a kid involved. And the person is human. The kid, too, probably. But the real problem is-”

He hesitates.

Leaning closer against him, she says, “Don’t be afraid, Jordan.”

“Something happened between us. It was a mistake, and it should have ended there. Except- you don’t like Agent McCall, do you?”

“I’ve never interacted with him on a personal level. Allison and Isaac didn’t. Stiles sure as hell doesn’t. Most importantly, though, Scott has a lot of complicated feelings towards his dad. I always place my friends above their parents.”

“He knows. Actually, I think he suspects something is still going on, but it’s not. It was one time, and again, a mistake. But he could make trouble.”

“Hmm. Here, turn.”

She gets them turned so they’re facing one another, and putting a hand under his chin, she says, “I’m not going to ask. But I’m going to find out who, and we’ll go from there.”

She starts reciting the names of different officers, and he makes sure to keep his face impassive.

When she’s done, she tilts her head and frowns. “You don’t need to be married to have a kid, but I’m assuming this one was. You aren’t abetting adultery or general infidelity, are you, deputy?”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. And I really don’t want you to know who it is.”

“I didn’t want a lot of things that happened to me over the past two years, but they did. Some of it, it wasn’t just things happening, it was people doing things to me. Some of them, they were right to do. Some of it, they weren’t. I’ll take my chances on this. Divorced, widowed, or widower?”

“I’m invoking my right to silence.”

Giving him an almost sympathetic look, she asks, “They didn’t wear their ring while they were with you, did they? Or was seeing them take it off what hurt?”

He tries not to think about the night (showers are a bitch). He doesn’t remember Stilinski taking his wedding band off, but thinking about it now, he does vaguely remembering Stilinski picking it up off the nightstand and slipping it back on afterwards.

“Does the sheriff know?”

She gasps, and he jumps. “What?”

“Sheriff Stilinski? You slept with- I’m not sure whether to be impressed or agree that you made a really big, stupid mistake, Jordan.”

One look tells him she isn’t guessing. She _knows_.

“How?”

She cups his cheek before moving upwards and tracing around his eye. “They changed.”

“What? They changed now?” Looking down, he sees, thankfully, his clothes are still on, and there’s no hint of fire.

“Yep,” she confirms. “Just now.”

“It was after I shot Brunski. Stiles was over with Scott or Malia or someone, and he came by to check on how I was doing. It- I’m not really sure who made the first move.”

This isn’t completely true, but he doesn’t need to go into the intimate details with anyone, least of all a high schooler. She’ll be eighteen soon, but the sheriff doesn’t deserve to have someone his son goes to school with, and going further, is close to, knowing anything about his adult private life.

He doesn’t know for sure who initiated the kiss or how it was initiated. What he does know is, after it broke, he made a split-second decision he wasn’t going to let Stilinski leave without trying to see how much he could get, and he’d sunk down to his knees. He’d been the one to tug Stilinski over to the bed, and he’d been the ones to dig the necessary supplies out of his nightstand.

Sighing, she kisses his cheek. “He needs to know. I don’t envy you having to tell him, but Agent McCall knowing- it could affect him, too, Jordan. Maybe even more than you.”

Exhaling, he nods. “I know.”

“On a different note, just so we’re clear, you liking men-”

“Bisexual’s probably the best way to describe me. I got crushes on both boys and girls all the time when I was little. As I got older- the two relationships I had have both been women, but if it weren’t for the army, I would have been looking at men, too.”

“Good to know. The sheriff’s a good man, and I know he’d never hurt or take advantage of you. I still feel compelled to say: If he ever does, he’s human, and he’s going to have a pissed off banshee on his case.”

“Same with you," he says. “I know you’re strong. Stronger than most people believe and are willing to accept. But I’m always going to try to protect you, and if anyone ever hurts you, they answer to whatever I am. It doesn’t matter if they’re a werewolf, a lizard werewolf, human, or something else.”

…

Unfortunately, he comes in ten minutes late from his lunch break.

“Sheriff Stilinski, can I talk to you privately?”

Motioning for him to follow, the sheriff nods, and in his office, he closes the door.

“First, I’m sorry for being late, sir.”

Giving him an amused, fond look, Sheriff Stilinski says, “Hey, it happens sometimes. Just don’t make a habit out of it.”

He nods.

“You were with Lydia?”

He suddenly realises the sheriff might be misinterpreting his friendship with Lydia, and worse, the sheriff seems happy about this misinterpretation.

Pushing aside the jealousy, hurt, and exasperation, he says, “It’s about Agent McCall, sir.”

…

“Hey, sheriff, I’m kind of busy, but-”

To his utter irritation, Stilinski pushes past him, and looking at the boxes, he comments, “Thought we settled this.”

“You know, I could've had a girl in here. Or a guy. Boss or not, you don’t have the right-”

“Stow it, Parrish.”

He tries not to sigh. “What do you want, sheriff?”

“Do I need to get Lydia Martin over here? You keep trying to run. I wish to hell my son would, but you? I honestly expected better from. You-”

“And I expected better from you,” he snaps. “I’m a hellhound, and so, I genuinely understand why you’ve been cold and distant and tried to keep me on a leash. Sure, you didn’t know, but maybe you sensed it. I just- if you did, or if you had more problems with us sleeping together than you let on, if you blamed me for McCall finding out, I wish you’d just told me. You keep me on desk duty until I confront you. You ruin my tires and give this nice speech in front of Lydia Martin, but because of how you’ve been treating me these last few months, I can’t help but wonder if that wasn’t all for her sake.”

When he was ranting to the sheriff in the station, he’d known it would be immature to bring it up the nosebleed he was subjected to during his stay on desk duty, but here in his apartment the sheriff’s just invaded, he’s tempted to.

Everyone knows Deputy Shelton is only granted the title of ‘deputy’ due to her aunt, a decorated captain at another station who worked under the sheriff before Sheriff Stilinski, convincing said sheriff to hire her as one before handing the reigns over to Sheriff Stilinski.

In reality, Shelton is more of a file clerk and quasi-legal expert than anything. She can’t even really be said to be on desk duty. Mainly, she sits in Filing Room B with a broom poised to whack at any officer (Stiles and other civilians have always been excluded) who dares enter rather than simply hand her the files through the door or tell her which files they want and allow her to retrieve and hand them through the door. In her spare time, she’ll often take her broom to Filing Rooms A and C and tackle them. Despite the undeniable fact the station’s record-keeping puts most other stations to shame, most people, including the sheriff, would be happy to see her go back to college and get a degree in library science.

When the sheriff decided to put him on filing duty, too, Shelton hadn’t complained and had worked with him in grudging silence. Once, though, she’d whacked him in the face, and despite her claim she’d thought she was defending the room from an intruder, he’s fairly sure she knew it was him and had done it as payback for when he accidentally knocked the filing out of her hands and to express her displeasure with having him invading her solitude.

Aside from this, he never would have laid out his fears to the sheriff about how he’s terrified he might hurt innocent people and how he might hurt the people he cares about. He never would have told him how he’s never been particularly religious, but suddenly, he’s wondering if something about him has targeted him for God’s wrath. There’s a clear line between boss and employee, sheriff and deputy, and aside from the one time, he never intended to cross it again. If he needed to talk to someone, he knew he could talk to Lydia.

For months, though, it’s felt as if the sheriff was hoping he’d decide on his own to leave, and he had a boss like this when he was fifteen. She plain despised him for some inexplicable reason, it hadn’t taken long to return the feeling, and she kept trying to get him to quit, but he never did. Eventually, she’d found a technicality to fire him.

Now, when he’s finally come to accept he’s not a kid working in retail anymore, and if he ends up getting himself fired, he might have a long, tough time of finding another good job, Stilinski is bullied by a civilian into trying to keep him around.

“Parrish- can I sit down?”

“Go ahead. I’m taking these out to my car, and don’t worry, I have four tires in my trunk. Just in case I run into another unauthorised spike strip.”

“You brought them back in.”

“No, I didn’t. Lydia and Malia, or more accurately, Malia with Lydia’s supervision, did.”

Stilinski puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re right. I haven’t handled things the right way, and storming in and yelling at you is part of that. If you’re bound and determined to leave, neither I or Lydia can stop you. But could we please just sit down and talk about this? I’m sorry. I really am, and I’d appreciate a chance to try to explain myself.”

This is playing dirty in a way he hates, but- well, it’s working, despite this.

“I’m getting a beer. Want one?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

…

After they sit down and open the beers, Stilinski says, “My wife’s father was more of a dad to me than my own was. Uh, I realise this is probably the worst way to- I have a point. When people are scared or uncomfortable or just confused, some of them naturally handle it the right way. I can’t tell you how many times I haven’t handled things with Stiles the right way, but usually, when it comes to my deputies, I do. You were an exception.”

“And I’m sorry for that. I wish I could tell you why. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Parrish, and I meant every word of that speech. It wasn’t for Lydia’s sake. I-” He makes a frustrated noise.

“My dad left something to be desired, too,” he offers. “He was better than my mom, but that’s a low bar. He tried, and she split before my second birthday. His trying wasn’t much. The best thing I got from them was my genes, and I’m sure, someday, I’ll appreciate or miss looking so young.”

Looking at him, the sheriff gives a low chuckle.

He clinks his bottle against the sheriff's.

“I like you more than I should.”

Startled, he looks over.

Stilinski is playing with the label on the bottle, but taking a deep breath, he looks over.

He's aware a large part of his attraction is based on physicality. As much as he respects the sheriff, knows things such as how he likes his coffee, and has learned some of his quirks, he doesn’t know him on a deeply personal level. Honest but willing to lie to protect people, usually polite and compassionate with suspects, loves his kid more than anything and anyone, and as just established, not always great in tricky emotional situations are the gist of the important facts he could answer about the man.

Recognising a large part of it is physical doesn’t stop the intensity, and either the universe is punishing him for being a hellhound, or the universe just fails to see why it should have any sympathy for the fact he is one. On his couch is a man with beautiful eyes, a killer smile, a strong body with areas of soft roundness, and cologne that only empathises all this.

He wants so badly to kiss him, get back on his knees, and drag him back over to the bed.

He wants it so badly that knowing he can’t makes it feel as acid is eating away at his heart. Likewise, the ache in his stomach is spreading up and around his entire torso.

“I, uh- when Stiles was three, there was a fellow deputy. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman who could whip my ass at basketball and was a hell of an officer. We got close, and I’d’ve probably denied everything in the strongest possible terms if anyone had tried to tell me that I really needed to take a step or two back before I did something stupid. No one did, though, and I almost did something stupid. One night, we were working skeleton crew at the station, and we almost kissed. Just as it was about to happen, I remembered my baby boy and his mother, the woman I’d loved since our second date.”

“I’m not married, now. Being with someone isn’t a betrayal to my son or his mother. One of the last lucid things that Claudia told me was that, much as she loved me, if she found someone to occupy her time in heaven while waiting for me, she was going to take it, and so, I should feel free to find someone here on Earth. We could figure things out again after I died, preferably when I was old and sleeping in my bed.”

“It’s just- I’ve never slept with an employee. Never wanted to. After I almost made that mistake, I was a lot more careful with how I approached my relationships with all my co-workers.”

“It that all?”

Making a small sound, Stilinski shakes his head. “I got my first serious girlfriend when I was fourteen. I met Claudia in college. Before her, I’d been with two other women intimately. Even back when I first moved here, this town was unique in how accepting it was of different people and relationships. I know it’d be too much to ask for Stiles to just find a nice, normal woman or man. He had a crush on a banshee for years, his best friend is a werewolf, his first girlfriend was a werecoyote, and well, the fact Derek Hale actually is alright once you get to know him is a relief, but the werewolf part- that part, I’m still processing.”

“Just so I’m clear, is it me being one of your deputies, me being a man, or me being a hellhound that-”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“That’s fair.”

“What I do know is I don’t want you to go, Parrish. Whether this town needs you for supernatural reasons or not, I need deputies like you for human ones. When Derek Hale was suddenly sixteen and didn’t have any memories of his older self, how you handled him, that’s when I started to fully realise what kind of gift you have. All your other qualifications, they’re impressive, but as has been made clear, I could really use some backup when it comes to dealing with people and situations I don’t understand.”

“If I stay, there are conditions.”

“Name them.”

“Don’t let something like this happen again, sheriff. I get it, you weren’t being actively malicious. Fine, but it’s time to change, now. No more keeping me out of the loop, no more treating me with this- cold politeness. We don’t have to be friends, but you can have normal conversations with me. If there’s a problem, again, don’t keep me out of the loop. Tell me what it is, and I’ll listen. We’ll see if it can be fixed.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Leaning back, he says, “I need you to help me return those four tires. The man I bought them from is a jackass who’s probably going to go on a spiel about how they aren’t eligible for return or how he can only give me credit. If I’m staying, I’m going to need money for food and rent, and since payday isn’t for another six days-” He looks over.

The sheriff laughs. “Done.”

“Good.”

“Anything else?”

He shakes his head. “We’re good. Time to start putting this behind us.”

“Okay, then.” Stilinski squeezes his shoulder. “I’m going to call a cab, and as soon as it gets here, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Did you drive over?”

“Yeah. I’ll come get the car in the morning.”

“You could help me unpack, and I could take the couch,” he offers. “Stiles can call if he needs something.”

“If you’re sure, I wouldn’t mind the couch,” Stilinski replies.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

…

He finds the sheriff sitting underneath his desk.

Making sure the blinds are fully closed and locking the door, he sits on the floor and pushes a cup of coffee over. “For lack of a better one, are you okay?”

“I forgot my son.”

“I know this doesn’t compare, but I forgot what happened between us. In a way, that was actually a kindness.”

Now, he feels guilty, but when he was the deputy with an inconvenient crush on his married boss, he didn’t feel any of this guilt. Sure, he didn’t exactly feel great when nice Mrs Stilinski came in to see her husband, but nothing was ever going to happen.

Sometimes, people got crushes where they knew, not only was there zero chance, their chances were actually in the negative numbers, and in a way, this made everything easier. The sheriff knew about what he was, and so did Mrs Stilinski. They had him over for dinner a few times, and she talked about setting him up with this cute cashier she always liked to have check her out when she bought groceries.

He was going to make his boss proud of him, he was maybe going to be sheriff himself one day, and in a way, it was nice having such an almost fatherly figure in his life.

Now, he’s wondering if whatever the Claudia Stilinski imposter was committed some form of sexual assault against the sheriff. He’s feeling guilty, because, even knowing she wasn’t really his wife and the sheriff wasn’t married a few months ago and wouldn’t have if he was, he can’t fully shake the jumbled thoughts of _oh, crap, I slept with a married person, I’m a terrible person, I can’t blame being a hellhound on this, I wouldn’t even sleep with a person in an open marriage but did sleep with someone who promised fidelity, and worse, his wife was always nice enough to make my favourite pie when I came over for dinner_.

Pushing all these thoughts aside, he makes himself more comfortable. “I’m not sure how- Everyone forgot someone, sheriff. Parents forgot their kids, kids forgot their parents, friends, spouses, and lovers forgot each other. As much as you love Stiles, you don’t love him more deeply and strongly than all those other people out there loved their lost ones. If it’d been you instead of him, he might have realised something was off, like you eventually did, but he’d’ve forgotten you the same way. Would you have blamed him for that?”

“No, of course not,” Stilinski answers. “But you’re wrong. Lydia Martin, she forgot, but from the very beginning, she was on top of things. She knew something very precious was missing, and she did everything she could to find out what and get it, get him and the others, back.”

“Lydia’s a banshee, and she, Stiles, and the others, they’ve been through hell and back in ways no one else has, not even you and him. She was with him when it happened. Plus, aside from being a banshee, she had a- link, I guess you could say, to the ghost riders. I promise you, sheriff, no matter how good of friends they are, if they someday become more, she’s never going to feel the sort of love you feel for your son and that he feels for you.”

Sighing, Stilinski rubs his face. “My son’s doing an FBI internship McCall got him into.”

He considers this. “I’m scared, too. It’s probably going to be funny watching you avoid his rants about his weapons scoring right up until I’m the one stuck on the phone with him, because, you are the sadistic type of boss who’d do that to me and any other deputy you have any sort of leverage over. Thank God I don’t have any kids. But I guess when it comes to them, even though you’re scared, there are times you just have to let yourself be proud. Acknowledge they’ve grown and are going to make you that.”

Catching his eyes, Stilinski gives him a small smile. “Thank you, Parrish.”    

Nodding, he props himself up and offers his hand.

Taking it, the sheriff says, “Most people wouldn’t take their boss hiding under his desk very well.”

“You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.”

“You, uh, do know that it’ll likely be a skype call or facetime, not a regular phone call? Meaning you can’t just put him on speaker and go about writing your reports.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t pursue a case for psychological torture in the workplace, which, just to remind you is a felony.”

…

Stilinski follows him home, and he decides it’s best to let the sheriff tell him in his own time.

“You hungry? Or do you want a beer?”

“Something killed a hellhound,” is the flat response.

“It wasn’t me,” he quickly says.

This earns him a glare.

“Look, sheriff- I, uh, I don’t have any more of an idea than you do. I know that’s not very comforting, but it’s the truth.”

“Someone could kill you.”

“I know what I said earlier, but the truth is, I’ve never really doubted that. Fire and freezing temperatures by themselves can’t. Claws haven’t yet. Apparently, an IED didn’t. But we don’t know that I can’t get sick someday, and yeah, really looking at things now, knowing what all hunters have been able to take down, there’s a good chance a bullet through the head or the heart might do the trick. Especially if it’s not an ordinary one.”

“Stop being so calm.”

He almost laughs. “Welcome to my life every time _you_ get yourself in a dangerous situation or, worse, almost killed. It’s not really something you get used to, but it’s easier to accept. We both swore an oath, right? Right now, I’m less concerned with the dead hellhound and more concerned with our gang of supernatural kids and their human friends. You don’t know how tempted I am to handcuff Lydia, put her in the back of a squad car, and drive her to M.I.T.”

“Natalie would pack snacks.”

Letting himself laugh, he stops when Stilinski comes over and puts a hand on his neck.

“Fenris tried to kill you.”

“Her saving me is the biggest obstacle to that plan.”

Stilinski closes his eyes.

“Hey.” Reaching up, he touches the sheriff’s arm. “I’m still here.”

The eyes open. “Can I kiss you?”

“Of course,” he automatically answers.

He remembers it being good before, but he doesn’t remember it being this good.

Unfortunately, memories of them sitting by the water come, and backing away, he puts his hand on Stilinski’s chest to stop him from following. “Better get home, sir. You almost lost one of your deputies tonight, and right now, I’m calm, but I’m probably going to have nightmares about what happened earlier. I’ll get through them, and you can get through any of yours. The last time this happened, though, it was a mistake.”

“Yeah, uh.” The sheriff rubs his own neck. “You’re right. I’m-”

“Please, don’t apologise,” he finds himself saying.

Nodding, Stilinski clasps his shoulder. “If you need to talk, day or night, promise you’ll call. Whether it’s me or someone else.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Night, Parrish.”

“Sheriff Stilinski.”

Watching him walk away, the urge to stop him is- he’d like more kissing and to, hopefully, not stop there, but even just sitting next to Stilinski on the couch and talking for a little-

Don’t, he tells himself. This is for the best.

Other thoughts protesting this and providing justifications run through his head, but the door softly clicks shut, and closing his eyes, he groans.

…

There’s a knock on the door.

Opening it, he sees Lydia, and smiling, he starts to greet her, but she pushes past him, and he sees she has a hand around Sheriff Stilinski’s wrist.

“Lydia-”

“I don’t know why, but fear is spreading around this town. You almost died, Jordan. And this dance between the two of you is getting tiring.”

“I know you two are friends, but this is definitely not your business,” Stilinski firmly declares. “How do you even know-”

“Jordan’s eyes turned orange once when I mentioned your name. It wasn’t his fault, but I took that as a clue.”

Stilinski looks sceptical, and if Parrish ends up getting torn a new one, he knows he’ll deserve it. “I didn’t mean that. Tonight, how-”

She gives them both an exasperated look. “A hellhound is dead, sheriff. Obviously, you weren’t going to let Jordan out of your sight, or at least, not until you couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Look.” She sighs. “I don’t claim to understand what exactly either of you are feeling. I don’t know if the two of you have long-term potential or not. Here’s what I do know: My priorities when I was fifteen might have lost me a great love. I’ll never know if Jackson and I could have been truly happy if we were both honest and focused on building something more than high school popularity. My next boyfriend died, and I had good reasons for not letting myself get too close, but I did love Aiden, and I know he loved me. I’ll never get another chance to- with him, there’s not going to be another chance.”

She moves away when he tries to step over to her, and wiping her eyes, she says, “Anyway, either you give this a real chance, or you don’t. Tonight, however, you’re staying here. His couch or his bed, I don’t care. I don’t know what or if anything can be done with some of this new fear invading town, but this fear, both of you wanting one another, both of you agreeing it’d be a mistake without being able to fully believe it, because, you both want each other so badly, I might be able to help do something about that.”

“Okay,” Sheriff Stilinski says with a surprising amount of helplessness.

He definitely can’t blame him. Pulling Lydia over and tracing underneath her eyes, he quietly asks, “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” She takes his hands. “Try to sort this out, Jordan.”

Nodding, he kisses her forehead.   

She starts to leave, and the sheriff says, “Hey, do you-”

“I brought my car. I’m going over to Malia’s tonight.”

Once she leaves, the sheriff nods to the TV dinner he’d just gotten out. “You have more than one?”

“Yeah. Uh, I could fix some real food, though, if you wanted. I learned how to cook in the army, and I’ve been trying to do it more often, but with it just being me-”

“Let’s see what you have.”

…

The sheriff, he quickly learns, knows how to cook, too.

Steeling himself, he says, “Sheriff, about Lydia-”

“She’s your friend, Parrish. I don’t care whether you told her or not.”

“Okay. But I didn’t. Or I didn’t specifically name you. I tried to keep everything vague, but I didn’t take into account that I was talking to an actual genius as much as I should have. She figured it out, and once she knew, there was no point in denying it. I’ve never gone into any sort of detail.”

Stilinski nods. “Toss me that pot holder.”

He wants to explain how confusing it all was, but part of the problem is the fact he thinks Sheriff Stilinski will keep on understanding and maybe even be more sympathetic. Of course, the young deputy he crossed a line with would need a friend, and luckily, he had one.

I’m not a kid, you didn’t take advantage of me, and I hate the way you can sometimes come across as if you’re this incredibly wise man when I’ve seen you mishandle and be as emotionally screwed up over things as I have. Stop trying your best to see me the way you see Scott and your son’s other friends.

He pushes these thoughts aside, and they get the macaroni and cheese with broccoli and chicken added made and sit down on his couch. He makes a note he really needs to get a table and some chairs.

…

“Do you think Lydia’s still out there?”

He shrugs. “It’s late, sheriff.”

“Want to dry?”

“Sounds good,” he agrees.

Stilinski starts the dishes. “You’re twenty-six years old. That’s not a criticism. Just why in the hell do you like me so much, Parrish?”

“What exactly is the question here? My first friend in this town was a seventeen-year-old. Sure, occasionally, there are lines, but generally, I don’t stop and think, ‘This person’s age means I can’t like them.’ If it’s you being my boss, believe me, I really didn’t intend to go from liking and respecting you to wanting to sleep with you.”

“I, uh, don’t really have a type when it comes to age,” he continues. “The first crush I remember having was a girl my own age. Or maybe she was a year younger or older, but we were in the same first grade class together. I was twelve when I got a crush on my gym coach, which is when I realised I liked both. When I was a senior, I liked this freshman boy. In the army, I was pen pals with a forty-five-year-old woman, and I started to develop feelings for her that I shouldn’t have.”

“So, what exactly do you have a type for?”

Drying the pan, he considers the question.

“Smart and moral,” he answers. “Most of the people I’ve developed feelings for have been smarter than me. I’ve agreed with their moral code.”

They finish the dishes.

“Did you think it was a mistake? I just realised, I never asked. I said it, and afterwards, so did you.”

“Of course, it was a mistake,” he sighs. “I’ve never slept with my boss before. Or even just a co-worker, for that matter. I’m a hellhound. Your son likes me, but I’m not sure whether that would increase if you and I- or if he’d be the one responsible for the next dead hellhound in this town. With all due respect, there’s having baggage, and then-”

He pauses.

Stilinski simply looks at him.

“And then, there’s being a widower with a college kid. My worst breakup involved my tires being slashed, and saying that now, if the next person who ruins my tires is someone I’ve slept with, I need to try to figure out how and why that particular pattern emerged.”

The sheriff laughs.

Smiling, he nods. “I know it was a mistake. I wouldn’t have said it while we were still naked in bed, and if you’d stuck around, I would have made breakfast or taken you out for coffee, but I would have said the same thing.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

He shrugs. Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, “All that said, maybe I should, but I can’t really bring myself to regret it.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

A tenseness he didn’t even realise he had leaves his body. “You sure you don’t want the bed? I fall asleep watching TV on the couch sometimes, so-”

He returns the kiss.

When it breaks, the sheriff takes his hand. “There are worst mistakes we could end up making before all this is over. Even as a human, I know Lydia’s right about something coming. And I wouldn’t regret it in the morning.”

Neither would he, but by definition a mistake is something unintended. Doing something you know you shouldn’t is a whole different ballpark, and it’s one he’s tried to stay out of since he was a teenager.

It hits him he almost died. He still remembers the freezing cold, he still remembers the gun aimed at him, and most of all, he remembers how desperate he was for both Stilinski and Lydia. Someone needed to protect her (naturally, she’d ended up protecting him; he supposes this is what he gets for such thoughts), and he just didn’t want to leave Sheriff Stilinski behind.

“Bed’s big enough for two,” he says. “Clothing optional.”

At Stilinski’s nod, he reaches over for his belt.

…

In the morning, they fix breakfast.

Finally, he asks, “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think we better figure it out before we get to the station, sheriff.”

“I don’t know if we can do this without- but I’m willing to try. We’ll keep what we do in private completely out of our jobs.”

“Good. I promise I’ll never try to get any work-related perks out of this, aside from-”

“You’re still taking my son’s skype calls when I’m otherwise occupied and everyone else has managed to find themselves occupied, too.”

“In that case, I’m adding domestic abuse to the psychological torture, violation of work safety, and misuse of authority lawsuit.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve always tried my best to avoid victim-blaming, but I’m not above: You’ve been in a room for more than five minutes with Stiles Stilinski, and yet, you still chose to get involved with his dad, thereby calling your judgement on everything into question.”

“Yeah, well, someone once told me I have more bravery than sense.”

…

The problem with the sheriff being good is: Sometimes, he finds himself almost-

Thankfully, he doesn’t think of him as the sheriff when they’re in bed. ‘Stilinski’ doesn’t seem right, and he doesn’t think calling a lover ‘sir’ in bed is for him.

This leaves him gasping and begging with no name to add to it.

The tracing on his chest stills. “Hey.”

Jumping, he looks over.

“It’s Noah. My name. It’s not what I particularly would have chosen, but then, I insisted on a name for my son that it took me almost two years to be able to pronounce. So, you know, probably not one to talk.”

Laughing, he kisses him. “Noah,” he tests the name out.

He did know Stilinski’s first name, but the thought of using it never occurred to him. During regular interactions, he’ll probably always be ‘Stilinski’, but he thinks, in bed, Noah will be good.

“Jordan,” he says. “I tend to think of myself as Parrish, but maybe here-”

Stilinski nods. “To be honest, it took me several weeks to properly remember your first name.”

“That’s okay. For some reason, I kept thinking yours should be John.”

This causes a beautiful grin. “Yeah, strangely, I’ve gotten that from a lot of people. And the thing is, I’d’ve chosen that over Noah.”

…

Noah comes home with him, and he doesn’t think to protest it.

“I get that you’re pissed.”

Digging through the fridge, he responds, “And I get that you made the best calls you could. As your deputy, I still wouldn’t like them, but it’d be easier if I weren’t also- if I weren’t sleeping with you.”

A mob surrounded the station. His sheriff did what his sheriff does and insisted on putting the largest target on himself as best he could. He went out to talk to them alone. He sat his weapon down on a table and went outside with his hands up to where a group of fanatics were armed to the teeth, and on the one hand, it was one of the bravest things he's ever seen, but on the other hand, he can’t help but hate Sheriff Noah Stilinski a little for being so brave and a twisted combination of selfless and selfish.

Truly, he wouldn’t have thought a single bad thing about anyone who decided not to do such a risky thing. He would have applauded their common sense, their instincts for self-preservation, and their determination to try to get through everything alive for the sake of their loved ones.

Two deputies died. He can only remember one of their names. They were corrupt, but they were people he saw almost every day. They might have been good deputies, once.

He still feels as if he mishandled everything with the Nolan boy. First, he put him near the two kids everyone wanted to kill, and, then, somehow, Nolan had gotten into close proximity of the two deputies who killed themselves.

There’s no proof he caused the suicides, but given the attempt he made on the kids, he wouldn’t put it past him.

He starts running water over the pasta.

“Jordan, stop.”

Taking a sharp breath, he swipes at his eyes before turning. “Don’t. You don’t get to- If I thought it would have worked, I would have begged you to not do half of the things you did tonight. Except, I get it. Two civilians, kids, at that, needed protection. They needed someone to ensure their rights were respected. You were the best person for the job, and you did it. They’ll get a trial. Hopefully, they’ll get to be free and have a life someday. But you could have gotten hurt or worse over those people’s rabid hatred and bigotry.”

“So, no, I’m not pissed. I’m hurt and scared, and I don’t know if there’s a right way to handle this. If there is, I don’t know what it is, and the whole truth is, I’m not even sure I’d want to do it.”

Looking down at his shaking hands, he hopes his eyes are still green. Taking a deep breath, he follows it with a few shallower ones. “If you want to stay, you can take the couch tonight. This is my apartment.”

…

Part of him wishes Stilinski would just go, but he doesn’t.

They both manage to have a small bowl of spaghetti.

He stays in the shower for nearly an hour. In something he’s always appreciated until now, using up all the hot water has never been a problem at this place. The hot water tank has always quickly refilled.

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t still try, and in turn, feel guilty and childish for doing so.

He goes to bed, the sheriff takes the couch, and after almost thirty minutes of staring at the ceiling, he manages to sleep restlessly for two hours.

Grunting, he stalks over to the couch.

Noah quietly inquires, “Want me to come over there?”

In response, Parrish takes his wrist and drags him over to the bed.

They get in, and he exhales when a warm, strong arm settles on his chest.

It doesn’t solve anywhere near all the problems, but it does let him fall properly asleep.

…

“Those people who were out there, you’re one of the people they want to see dead.”

He looks up from his bowl of spaghetti.

“I always try my best to never send my deputies into a situation I’m not sure they have a chance of coming out alive of. Even when I had a wife and little boy at home, I’d have gone into that sort of situation myself before I sent one of my men or women into it. At the station, that wasn’t the case. I needed someone I knew I could trust absolutely, who I knew knew what they were doing, to hold the station. The sheriff needed to be the one out there, negotiating.”

“But I find myself wondering: In future dangerous situations, can I justify sending you? Can I justify not? Much as I might like to, I can’t decide to keep you safe by sending someone in your place if you’re the best person for that job. Partly, because, I know how well you’d take that, but mainly, because, my job as sheriff requires me to send the person I think best, regardless of the risks, and regardless of how much I care about them or any other factors. I’d hate having to send a parent, especially of a minor, into a life-or-death situation. A new husband or bride. Someone close to retiring, or hell, even just someone on their birthday.”

He wishes this could be easy. He’s found a great guy, one who treats him right, and he wishes he could just enjoy it. He knew going in that having a sexual relationship with his boss was probably (definitely) not a good idea, but every time reminders pop up-

“Please, don’t break up with me,” he finds himself saying.

Unsure what to make of the look on Stilinski’s face, he hopes he isn’t coming across as a scared kid.

In a lot of ways, it’s what he feels like, and he hates it.

“As your deputy, I trust you to always put the safety of civilians above everything, and I trust you to put the safety of your officers second to everything. As for everything else- I consider it part of my job to try to always protect my sheriff. It is part of my job. If that means arguing with you in front of the whole damn station about how you should be sending me or someone else into a situation, I will. If that means trusting that there’s no other way but for you to go, I’ll try my best to shove my personal feelings for you aside and give you the support you need as a deputy.”     

“As for that mob out there, I’m not afraid as a deputy, and I’m not afraid as a man or a hellhound. Them, I’m pissed off at. What they tried to do isn’t right, and we both know that wasn’t the end of things. Lydia, Scott, all the other werewolves and werecoyotes and whatever other supernatural creatures are in Beacon Hills, they aren’t automatic dangers, a lot of them are good people and innocent kids, and I’m not going to be afraid of anyone with a weapon sprouting hateful rhetoric. They can want me dead all they like. But just because someone got lucky and took down one hellhound, I don’t think they’ll have such an easy time taking down this one.”

“See that they don’t,” Noah says with a sad smile. He finishes his eggs. “Hurry up and finish. We’d better get to work soon.”

After he finishes his bowl, they brush their teeth.

Once he’s fully dressed, he goes to the door, but before he can open it, Noah says, “Hey.”

He looks over.

Linking his fingers through Parrish’s and bringing the other hand to Parrish’s cheek, he softly kisses him. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

Unable to help it, he lets out a relieved sigh. “Good.”

They walk out.

…

When a person is in a sexual relationship with someone, they occasionally learn new things about both that person and themselves.

He’d known this, but he still finds himself surprised at the fact he is learning said new things, and occasionally, what he learns aren’t necessarily good things.

It turns out, the sheriff’s bed is both bigger and more comfortable than his.

This is probably because the sheriff got it from a nice store rather than paying an army buddy fifty bucks for some box springs and convincing a Navy seal he played basketball with giving his college aged kid’s old mattress to charity could be accomplished by giving it to him rather than some organisation.

Along with the physical comfort, however, is the thoughts he tries not to have: Is this the bed he and the real Mrs Stilinski bought together, slept on, and did other things in? Is it the bed they brought little Stiles to when he had bad dreams? He knows, thankfully, the fake Mrs Stilinski never took sexual advantage of the sheriff, but this bed was where they did sleep.  

Pushing the thoughts away, he’d decided, anytime the sheriff was willing to have him over, he’d take it. In addition to the more comfortable bed, there’s a proper kitchen containing a table and chairs, and the smell of the sheriff is always stronger in his own house.

He’d thought the only real downside was the lack of even basic cable, never mind satellite.

In the sheriff’s room is a mirror, and he’s never particularly paid attention to it. The bathroom has a mirror for when he’s getting ready in the morning, and he’s never understood the appeal some people see in watching themselves have sex.

Somehow, he’s gotten into a position where he’s staring into it, and yellow-orange eyes are looking back at him.

If his other side is about to take over- no. No, this can’t happen, because, he doesn’t know what to do if it does, and Noah could be hurt. Even with no hurt, this would be where the line has to be drawn. His age, all the other stuff making him an unsuitable long-term- all this is something that can be put off until later. Him turning into a literal monster during sex-

Closing his eyes, he tries to will the hellhound to just wait to do whatever its planning until he can get somewhere where everyone will be safe.

“Hey. Jordan.”

He can still feel every move Noah’s making, but they’re getting tentative and slower.

“Open your eyes. Please.”

Before he can stop himself, he has, and the look in Noah’s eyes tells him Noah’s not surprised or even curious.

…

“You didn’t know?”

“No, and I really expected that to be the sort of thing you’d’ve have mentioned.”

Stilinski gives him an apologetic look that’s underscored by his slight shrug.

“Does it always happen?”

“Now, yes,” is the answer. “I’m not sure if it happened the first time or not. I can’t remember the first time it did. There were times it did, and times it didn’t.”

“How can this not freak you out?”

Sipping his coffee, Stilinski gives another shrug. “You’ve always been you during sex. You’ve always been there mentally and wanting everything we did.”

“Yes, but my eyes were inhumanly glowing.”

“My son was dating a girl whose eyes glowed, and he had to chain her up in a banshee’s lake house during the full moon. She not only could turn into a coyote, I once had the traumatising experience of watching her shift back into a human. It was legitimately stomach-turning. Oh, and, uh, he met her while they were both in a mental institution.”

“A kid who was kidnapped by supernatural doctors and experimented on tried to kill me. No, actually, make that two kids. I have met, at least, three people who were dead dead, not just immediately zap them and their heart or brain will restart, who are now not dead. They’re alive, breathing, and talking, and in Peter Hale’s case, putting innocent people in danger.”

“Now, I haven’t handled most of the above very well. I’ll be the first to admit that. But a, um, lover’s eyes taking on a different colour at certain times, that’s not something I really need to handle, especially when I know it’s not happening due to something being wrong.”

…

Part of him is tempted to talk to Lydia, and the rest of him takes the position of _if not for the fact the hellhound would likely stop you, you should definitely murder yourself painfully for even considering such a thing._

He doesn’t have the right to talk about his sex life with anyone but the person he’s having sex with. He knows he’d be horrified if Stilinski talked to anyone else about it. Besides, there’s no way she wouldn’t quickly get a good idea of certain things if he tried to keep it vague with, ‘What circumstances have you noticed my eyes changing colours, and what are your thoughts on what the catalyst was?’

Then, his phone beeps, and past the fury and his wish the hellhound would appear and go on a killing spree, he finds himself desperately praying he’ll be able to talk to Lydia again soon.

…

Upon listening to why Tamora Monroe isn’t in a jail cell, he retorts, “I don’t care if she was at the school, she did this! You don’t have to be the one holding the gun to- She sent whoever was!”

Sheriff Stilinski makes a haggard sound, and rubbing his forehead, he says, “I need you to be one of the ones stationed at the hospital while I handle things here. You can take Lydia’s hallway. Agent McCall has been safely transferred, and Stiles is going to meet him. That’ll keep him a way for a little longer, at least. I hope to God Mason- Melissa will come through. She wouldn’t leave her boys alone. I’ve called Isaac, and thankfully, Scott has convinced him to stay in France. Corey- normally, I’d try to get him back to school, or at least, home, be with his family, but he’s probably safest at the hospital.”

Where his boyfriend might die, he hears, and some of his anger deflates.

For a long moment, he simply looks at Sheriff Stilinski.

The sheriff and Melissa McCall have been not-quite friends for years. Their boys grew up together, and then, they got another in the form of Isaac Lahey. She helped him when he started drinking too much, and beyond professional disagreements and even with McCall saving Stiles several times over, he’s never going to fully forgive McCall for how the other man was when Scott was little. There’s a good chance, he realises, that, if things had just been a little different, the sheriff and Nurse McCall might have become romantically involved.

Now, she, her son, and several other innocent people were in a suburban house that was shot up.  All the insistence on wishing doesn’t change the fact she and any of the others might not-

God, if Scott weren’t a werewolf, the sheriff would have to suffer through both one of his sons and a woman he loves being on the table. If Malia weren’t a werecoyote, his son’s first girlfriend might be dying right now.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly says.

The sheriff gives him a startled look.

“As much as this hurts and scares me, as angry as I am, you’re suffering just as much. I know you’d give almost anything to be sitting in the hospital waiting for the surgeries to be over. I- I wish we could just throw her in a cell, but I understand why we can’t. Just tell me what I can do as a deputy to help make this easier. Not protecting them; obviously, I will. But if there’s anything else.”

Slumping, the sheriff shakes his head. “Just- when this is over, I need you to not be my deputy.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “In return, you don’t be my sheriff. When this is over, we’ll just hole up somewhere for a few days. No drinking, but we could get a large amount of junk food that’d send Stiles into an apoplectic rant.”

“Sounds good.”

“Are you holding up right now?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, get to the hospital.”

“Sheriff.” Opening the door, he leaves.

…     

He has literally been in combat situations in enemy territory with gunfire and explosives coming from all sides where less things have gone wrong.

Lydia goes missing for hours, and no one can really do anything. He finally gets a time-stamped picture of her in her hospital gown with the message, _I’m safe, but I’m busy doing banshee things right now_.

If not for bumping into Corey, he wouldn’t know where he was. As it is, Dr Geyer uses his doctor clearance, which is somehow more legitimate as a concept than deputy clearance is, to convince the nurses to let Corey sit in Mason’s room, and this wouldn’t be bad if not for the fact Corey unknowingly turned invisible while holding Mason’s hand, and everyone was freaking out over the fact another teenage gunshot victim was missing.

This was followed by Corey hyperventilating over, “What if my powers hurt him, I’ve never turned anyone who was hurt invisible.”

Nurse McCall asked for Chris Argent, but Chris Argent discharged himself and is who knows where. He would have a lot of sympathy for him due to knowing about his wife and daughter if not for the fact none of the people she cares about are near her and it’s obvious she’s only just managing to keep herself from crying around other people.

He knows better than to think it can’t possibly get worse, because, he knows it can and likely will.

This doesn’t exactly prepare him for short, chubby Deputy Shelton shoving him into a supply closet.  

…

Blinking, he tries to process the fact he’s looking at a not-human Deputy Shelton.

“Wendigo,” she crisply informs him. “I get all my food from this place where cancer patients donate their bodies after death.”

“Is that healthy? With all the radiation and stuff?”

She glares. “Since my diet doesn’t involve people being killed, it’s not your concern. It is my concern that you take what I’m about to tell you in a calm, non-supernaturally rage-induced way.”

…

He doesn’t give into supernatural rage, but to say he’s completely calm might be stretching it.

If not the supernatural and supernaturally-affiliated kids and Nurse McCall all still needing trustworthy protection, he’d probably give in and go find the sheriff.

Except, Noah Stilinski no longer holds the position of sheriff, and-

Aside from Gerard Argent, he’s never hated anyone as much as he does Tamora Monroe.

Haigh tried to kill him, he’s brought in some terrible suspects before, and he’s seen the damage certain warlords did up-close. In all technicality, the latter has done worse, but he expects enemies of his country to do terrible things to American citizens and, sometimes, even their own. Gerard and Monroe had two unarmed teenagers shot in the head, she led a mob against a police station and has now removed the station’s sheriff without due process, they’ve been calling for the discrimination, capture, and torture of their fellow citizens, and now, they’ve flat-out started a war against American citizens on American soil.      

If he ever finds out Chris Argent whisked himself off to the safety of some nice island-

Through all his anger, he finds himself unable to deny the fact he’s terrified.

The mayor is beyond useless, but despite his lack of respect for the man, this never particularly bothered him, because, the town had its leader sitting in the sheriff’s office. Now, Beacon Hills has no official leader, no matter what Monroe and Gerard would like to believe. The police station has been taken from its rightful person.

If he can keep his job and be an inside man for the others, he will, but he’s a deputy who’s just been taken away from his sheriff, and his sheriff has been taken away from him, not by falling in the line of duty, not by passing his leadership onto a chosen person, and not even by some terrible tragedy in the form of accident or sickness, but by fanatics with more weapons than decency and hate-filled beliefs and words fuelling them to use them.

He’ll let himself think about Noah the man and how all this is affecting him when he can finally see him.

…

It might be a better idea to not make it clear to everyone he’s heading straight for Sheriff Stilinski’s house, but he can’t be bothered to do cloak and dagger subterfuge.

As soon as he’s inside, he wraps around Noah.

When it breaks, they share a soft kiss.

Then, Noah goes over to sit down at the table, and he sees there’s a bottle of whiskey and a glass. If Noah’s drank any, it hasn’t been much; the bottle’s still almost full, and he didn’t smell or taste any alcohol during the hug and the kiss.

“Everything’s gone to hell,” Noah mutters.

Yes, it has, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Shelton had gone back to the station immediately after delivering the message, and when he’d tried talking to her later, she’d been working in File Room C. “Go to the sheriff,” she’d ordered before sharply poking him in the stomach and literally barring the door.

When it came to everyone else, he hasn’t quite been told to get the hell out, but everyone looked at him uneasily, and it’d been made clear he wasn’t getting to the office containing Monroe without having to deal with several people, first.

Even knowing this is probably in the column of worse ways to handle things, he finds himself getting a glass, sitting down, and pouring the whiskey for both of them.

They clink glasses, get drunk, and end up curled around each other in bed.

There’s no sex. There is some crying, cursing, and rambling on both sides.

…

In the morning, they drink coffee.

“If they let me stay, I have to,” he says.

“I know. Last night- It doesn’t matter. I won’t drink again until this is all over. Whatever I can do without my badge, I will.”

“None of this is right.”

He hates how he sounds, but he stands by the words.

Sighing, Noah takes his hand. “No, it’s not.” Then, he smiles. “Look, uh, we need to accept that this- it might be the end for one or both of us soon. As the former sheriff of Beacon Hills, let me say, it’s been an honour serving with you, Deputy Parrish.”

“The honour’s been all mine,” he automatically replies.

“Try to get through this alive. For me.”

“You, too,” he says, and he means for it to be calm and firm, but it’s quiet, shaky, and he can feel his traitorous eyes refusing to stay dry.

…

He wishes he could ask her reasoning, and he hopes to God she’s okay, but Shelton is gone, and the station’s physical filing is beyond the labelling of ‘complete mess’ and straight into ‘an absolute disaster’. Nothing is where it’s supposed to be, there is no discernible reason to why anything is where it is, and to really top it off, there are files tucked in nooks and crannies of the station.

There’s no way to know if any files have been taken, and it takes an hour of the whole station looking just to find this one report Deputy Méndez needs for a court hearing.

Everyone continues to keep him away from Monroe, and he’s put on filing duty.

He knows this is good, and he knows he shouldn’t complain. It doesn’t take long for him to start hearing things the others don’t want him to, and it’s easy to non-intrusively observe various people. He can make guesses on what people are thinking based on what reports and forms they want.

However, he soon finds himself hating filing. It’s long, tiring work requiring sharp attention to mind-numbingly boring details, and while he’s not at the point of grabbing a broom and attacking his fellow officers, he soon finds out just how frustrating it is when others mess up the little bit of progress he’s managed to make at getting a little bit of organisation accomplished.

…

Two days later, he meets Noah.

They’re trying to avoid letting people know for sure they’re still meeting up, but whether it’s working or not, he can’t say. He doesn’t think he was physically followed, but there are other ways of having his movements and Noah’s tracked.

“Hey,” Noah says. “Hard day?”

“It’d be better if I could find some clue to what the big plan is. I know Monroe and Gerard have one, but-” He huffs.

“Here’s something that should help some.” Noah picks up a package. “Captain Kennon, Amie’s aunt, confirmed Amie made it safely to her. And Amie express mailed this to me.”

Handing it over, he explains, “It’s a list of where to find certain files and reports and a general idea on where others should be. She also included some filing tips. I’d recommend you disregard number sixteen.”

He skims through it. “Oh, thank God.”

Setting it aside, he kisses Noah.

…

Almost every time they meet, they end up having fast, frantic sex.

Under normal circumstances, it’s not what he’d want, but they’re both desperate and scared, and they both know this might be the last time. They both know they can’t afford to take it slow. He could be called away at any moment, Noah is scared to death Stiles might show up in town and he (Noah) won’t know about it, and neither of them want to be caught by any of Monroe and Gerard’s in such a position.

He doesn’t worry about his eyes.

He worries about certain words slipping out, and he swears to himself, if they manage to make it out alive, he’ll man up and say them properly, but please, he begs, don’t come out now.

…

They’re in the eye of the storm.

He knows everything is going to come to head, soon, and Lydia and the others refuse to leave, despite the fact this might literally be their last chance.

If it’s bad strategy or a fatal miscalculation, so be it, but he parks a squad car in front of Noah’s house and goes inside.

The sex isn’t fast and frantic, and when he catches a glimpse of his orange eyes in the mirror, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is how good it feels, how happy he is he was lucky enough to meet Noah Stilinski, and how grateful he is they decided to go through with what they both called a mistake all those months ago.

Afterwards, he finds himself stroking the scars on Noah’s chest.

“My father has always been a mean sonofabitch. He thought it was okay to lay his hands on women, including my mother.”

He stills.

“I always disagreed strongly with that, and one day, his response was to put me through our living room table. It had a glass top.”

“That’s amazing,” he blurts out, and even before the words are fully out, he’s wincing. “Obviously, not him doing that to you, and especially not him hurting your mom. I meant-”

Taking a breath, he finds Noah looking at him with bewildered but, thankfully, not angry eyes.

“What I mean is, I’ve always admired how great of a dad you are. But this- we both know how hard it is for cycles of abuse to be broken. Of course, though, you did it.”

Underneath him, Noah relaxes. “It’s not exactly- As much as I’d like to say it was just something I never had in me, I can’t. Like I said, Miecyzslaw, Claudia’s dad, he was more of a dad to me than mine ever was. Whenever Claudia and I fought, I never had the urge to hurt her, thank God, but if I had, he’d’ve been in my head. When he was alive, I knew what he’d do to anyone who ever hurt his daughter, and after he was dead- I still carry his memory around. I promised him on his deathbed that I’d always take care of her and his grandson.”

Noah sighs, and almost too quietly to hear, he adds, “Stiles was harder.”

He can imagine. Stiles was, without a doubt, the kind of kid who’d test the patience of even the calmest people.

“We both know this job can be hell, and after Claudia died- It was too easy to fall into drinking every night. And then, I was drinking during times I definitely wasn’t supposed to be. Thankfully, I managed to get it under control, and I owe Melissa a lot for that. But there were times I found myself almost at the end of my rope with him.”

“I never meant to imply I thought it was easy for you. You are amazing, though, Noah. No kid should have to do what you did, but you did, and then, when you grew up, you were everything a husband and dad is supposed to be. Stiles, he’s already faced more than he should have ever had to, and I’m scared, too, of what else he’s going to have to face, but-”

He carefully kisses the scars, and when Noah doesn’t tense, he licks and rubs his nose against them. Feeling Noah’s hands curling through his hair, he continues, “He doesn’t have anything like these. If he ever gets married, he’s not going to have to remember his dad hurting his mom and worry about, ‘what if I ever do that?’ If he has a kid, he’s going to be so proud to tell them all about their granddad and love bringing them over.”

Pulling him up, Noah kisses him.

When it breaks, he lies back down, and shifting, Noah wraps an arm around him.

…

There are people dead, and the town is still an uneasy mess, but he and the people he cares about are all still alive. Monroe and Gerard have been stopped, and the thing causing mass fear is gone.

Tomorrow, Lydia heads off for college.

Sitting on the nemeton with her, he holds her hand.

“My mom’s decided to move at the end of the year. I managed to convince her to readjust the paperwork and label Mason, Liam, and Corey juniors. They’ll be seniors next year.”

“What?”

“She tried to have them moved up a grade. Mason’s parents were on-board, Corey’s didn’t care, and Liam’s reluctantly went along with it.”

“How?”

“She wasn’t above misusing her authority.” Sighing, she shakes her head. “She’s my mother. Most of who I used to be was because of her, and everything that’s happened has forced me to fight against being that person. Even back then, I didn’t want to be it, but I was too scared to make any true changes. I kept telling myself, once I left high school-” She shrugs.

Squeezing her hand, he says, “Well, I’ve only ever known this person, and she’s amazing. I hope you’re as proud of her as I am.”

Smiling, she presses closer against him. “Have you told him?”

“No.”

“You should,” she says.

“The station’s going through a complete overhaul, and I’m not really involved in the hiring, but if people think I am-”

“Excuses, Jordan.”

“Yeah, but I do have a point. I’m his. And at work, I’m Sheriff Stilinski’s deputy. But I’m not someone who’s sleeping with my boss to get anything. I’m not going to use what we do in private to ever influence him at work. Not if I can help it, at any rate.”

Making a soft sound, she says, “I think he’s mostly figured out you’re his. But trust me, the words are important.”

“Where’s your mom going? Is she going to need help with packing or anything?”

She lets him change the subject, and they spend the rest of the day together.

…

Despite the town largely settling and him no longer being on filing duty, there are still days when things like having to chase a feral werewolf across town, having to rescue a mean, sharp-clawed cat from a tree, having to deal with a kid who locked herself in the school’s boiler room (why in the hell does a modern school even have a boiler room?), and having to help a preacher’s insane, bigoted wife fill out a complaint form as she goes on a treatise about how abortion is somehow all the fault of werewolves happen.

When they all happen on the same day, he has a gun, and he swears, if anyone dares try to rope him into staying after his shift to fill out paperwork, he will damn well use it.

All he wants is to go home, crash in front of the TV, and maybe, eventually, get the energy to fix some food.

“Hey.” The sheriff’s thumb finds a knotted area in the back of his neck, and he manages to not turn into a puddle and sink to the floor. “Why don’t you come over tonight?”

He moves Noah’s hand away. “Sorry, but I’m not in the mood. Too tired.”

Chuckling, Noah finds the spot on his neck again. “Yeah, I kind of gathered that. Come over. You sleep better in my bed. I know I don’t have much in the TV department, but I do have a radio, and I’ll make some steaks.”

Part of him realises there’s a nearby deputy, and he’s not sure how much she just heard, but mostly, he’s coming closer and closer to turning into the puddle due to the words, their implications, and the feeling of Noah’s warm, strong thumb pressing gently into his neck.

…

“Hey, Dad, I’m sorry for not calling, but Derek and I…”

He wakes up, panics, and doesn’t get out of bed fast enough to avoid Stiles coming and finding him in Stiles’s dad’s bed.

Oh, crap, is the most coherent thought he can come up with.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Deputy Parrish.”

“Hey, Stiles.”

“So, uh, want to tell me where my dad is? And why you’re in his bed?”

He has no idea where Noah is.

Stronger words than crap filter through his head. They didn’t have sex, so, maybe, if Derek comes around, he isn’t going to smell anything incriminating, and he is wearing pyjama bottoms, but yeah, he’s the half-naked employee in the bed of Stiles’s father.

“You didn’t get incredibly drunk and he bailed you out, did you?”

“Uh, no.”

It’s probably not a good thing him getting drunk, being taken home by his boss, and somehow ending up in his boss’s bed, presumably with said boss taking the couch would actually- it wouldn’t exactly be preferable, but he has a general idea how Stiles would react, and it probably wouldn’t change anything too much.

“Stiles,” he hears Noah call. “Are you here, kid? I-” He appears in the doorway with a reusable shopping bag in his hand.

“Hey, Dad.”

Setting the bag down, Noah pulls him into a hug and kisses his head. “Hey. I really wish you’d call when you’re planning on doing something big. Like coming to visit. Actually, I just wish you’d call more period.”

“Yeah, sorry. I need a new cell phone. There’s a story to that, but uh, I think you might have an even bigger one. What’s Deputy Jordan Parrish doing in your bed, Dad?”

“There’s, um, no use getting into any big stories on an empty stomach. Are you hungry? I’m about to make some pancakes and omelettes.”

…

After finding his shirt, he helps with breakfast.

Quietly, Noah says, “I’m sorry. I planned to surprise you with breakfast. I had no idea-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad your son is visiting and that he’s safe and all in one piece. I know how much you’re always worrying about him.”

Noah gives him a relieved look.

“Uh, but what exactly are- he’s not going to just let the question drop.”

“I’m still working on that.”

Watching Noah washing his hands, he suddenly sees: Noah isn’t wearing his wedding ring.

Looking back, he can’t remember the last time he saw him wearing it.

This is something, if Stiles hasn’t already, he’s going to notice soon.

He doesn’t know what it means he didn’t, and more importantly, he doesn’t know what _it_ means.

“If you want to leave-” Noah offers.

‘Want’ isn’t exactly the word, but the urge to slip out the door and go home to the apartment Stiles may or may not know where is, is strong.

“Time to flip Stiles’s omelette,” he says. “Are you sure we don’t need to make another pot of coffee? I don’t mind the milk, but I know you prefer yours-”

Flipping the omelette, Noah answers, “As he’ll no doubt remind me and, if I’m really unlucky, the whole station, I need to cut back on my coffee intake. It’s fine. We still have plenty of pulp-free orange juice, and no, you’re not going to make a run to get the other kind. If he wants pulpy orange juice, the least he can do is call to tell me he’s alive and that he’s going to be visiting.”

…

When they sit down for breakfast, Stiles immediately launches into talking about everything he and Derek have been doing. They still haven’t tracked down some rogue hunter, but they did literally save an orphanage down in Nebraska. He shows off pictures of various places they’ve gone and people they’ve met.

“I know it’s not the FBI or any kind of law enforcement,” Stiles says with a tentative look at his dad, “but we’re really making a difference.”

“Come home alive, and try your very best not to get yourself thrown into some cell in a maximum-security building, and I’m always going to be proud of you, kiddo,” Noah replies with a small smile. “And in the latter case, if you tell me you really didn’t do something to deserve being thrown in there, I’ll find a way to get you out. How, I don’t know, but I will.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Is Derek in town, too?”

“Yeah, he’s visiting the cemetery right now, then, he’s going to do some catching up with Chris Argent. It alright if he comes over for dinner?”

“Sure,” Noah agrees.

Then, he watches a new expression cross Noah's face. It’s the one where he’s steeling himself to do something he’s not sure he wants to or should.

“If you’re both staying in town, he’s welcome here. Just, uh, if you two are going to crash out together, do it in your room. I don’t want you sleeping on the couch or the living room floor.”

Stiles smiles. “Thanks, Dad. We’ll be in town until Monday.”

“In that case, you’re going shopping with me tomorrow. He’s your guest, and I’m not going to see you doing without some of the things you haven’t been able to have for months. And you’re not going to foist me off with some list.”

“Or,” and Stiles gets the look that always means trouble, “Deputy Parrish could keep me occupied today, and me and him could do the shopping.”

“Sorry, but I’m on-duty today.”

Stiles shrugs. “My dad’s the sheriff. He can spare you for the day.”

“No,” he says, and it comes out sharper than he intends. “I’d never use my friendship with your dad to get a day off. Or anything else work related.”

“Well, technically, it’s less getting a day off and more unpaid babysitting, so.”

“Stiles,” Noah sighs. “Stop torturing my deputy.”

“Alright, here’s the deal: I won’t ask about why he was in your bed this morning. Okay? I promise.”

Worryingly, Noah looks as if he might believe him, and for all the good feelings Parrish has towards Stiles, Stiles is a lying, scheming schemer who lies. Even when it comes to his dad, he’s manipulated, misled, and outright deceived over the years. If Noah makes him agree, the very first thing Stiles is going to do is trap him in a hellhound containing cage and start with some variation of, ‘About you being half-naked in my widower father’s bed that he shared with my mother…’

“You don’t have to,” Noah tentatively starts.

Noah’s right, he doesn’t have to, unless, of course, Noah asks him to. Then, he probably does. Whether they’re boyfriends or not, it’s gone way past the stage of just sleeping together into the stage where, if Noah called him at three in the morning, he’d probably show up with a shovel and help bury a body with only a minimum amount of questions.

“But after the day you had yesterday-”

And you think spending time with your overprotective, genius son who’s been breaking the law since he was a kid despite his dad being law enforcement is going to be relaxing, is something he manages to not say.

“Look, I’m going to lay it out,” Stiles interrupts. “Either someone hangs out with me, or I’m crashing at the station until Derek’s ready for lunch.”

“Let’s go shopping,” he says.

…

He’s starting to think Stiles will keep his word.

They go shopping, drop the things off at the sheriff’s, and then, see a movie Stiles had been hoping to see before it stopped playing in theatres.

Afterwards, they end up in the park, and sitting on a bench looking at the spot where he once sat with his feet in the water, he realises he’s bracing himself.

“So, do you love my dad?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Yes.”

“Planning on telling him this?”

“Probably not.”

Stiles scoffs, and he looks over.

“See, like I said before, I love you, Parrish. You’re one of the few people I’d actually, no joke about it, kill for, no questions asked. But that isn’t a good answer. Okay? I don’t like or understand that answer.”

“I’m twenty-seven, Stiles. He’s my boss. I’m really not trying to hurt you, but he still misses your mom.”

“Derek’s twenty-five. Of course, he misses my mom. He’s going to miss her until the day he dies. So am I. And as for him being your boss, so what?”

“It’s not that simple, and I didn’t think to add: I’m a hellhound.”

“Derek’s a werewolf. Malia’s a werecoyote, or technically, a werecoywolf, and Lydia’s a banshee. Do I need to go on and list all the other supernatural people who are important to both me and him?”

“Your dad and I aren’t you and Derek.”

“No. Unlike you, me and him have gotten our shit worked out. Mostly. No relationship is ever completely smooth sailing, right?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Here’s the thing: If you think you’re going to have to choose between my dad and your career, I wouldn’t blame you for choosing the latter. If the age difference bothers you because long-term commitment to an older man doesn’t sound appealing, not because you think it bothers him, I wouldn’t blame you for that, either. After losing my mom, do you think whatever exactly it is you have with him ending is going to break him? I promise you, it won’t.”

“But if you actually love him, if you want more than what you have right now, then, open your eyes, Parrish. It doesn’t matter if he loves you back, because, in his mind, you’re eventually going to lose interest. Find someone he thinks would be more appropriate for you.”

Jumping, he remembers McCall saying the same thing.

“So, that means, he’s never going to say it. Not first. My father is the bravest man I’ve ever known, but this isn’t about bravery. It’s about him also being one of the most self-sacrificing people I’ve ever met. But when it comes to you, it is about bravery. Make up your mind, and make some kind of change. Tell him, or leave him.”

“You, uh, don’t seem surprised by this. There’s not near as many questions as I would have thought.”

Stiles shrugs. “You having a crush on my dad was obvious. I am surprised about him, but- I literally didn’t know what bisexuality was until I was seventeen. Even then, I didn’t get the concept until much later. I sort of knew that I liked both, but because my crush on Lydia was so strong for so long, I assumed I had to be straight. If I can find myself falling in love with a supernatural man, my dad can do the same.”

“Just remember, though: Even if that Monroe woman hadn’t killed a hellhound, the idea that one can’t be killed would never be something I’d place stock in. If you decide to stay with him, and then, hurt my dad, I don’t care how much taller you are and how well-muscled, and I sure as hell don’t care that you’re a supernatural creature with the word ‘hell’ in your name. I will end you.”

“I fully believe that,” he sincerely replies.

“Good.”

“You know if Derek ever hurts you, it doesn’t matter that he’s a werewolf, your dad will kill him?”

“Yeah.” A soft smile crosses Stiles’s face. “But Derek never will.”

“I believe that, too.”

…

The four of them have dinner, and afterwards, Derek asks, “Can I help with the dishes, sheriff?”

“No. Stiles, take Derek. I’m not having guests-”

“What’s Parrish, then,” Stiles inquires.

Rolling his eyes, he continues taking the plates to the sink.

“Derek, take my son.”

“Yes, sir,” Derek agrees, and he drags Stiles off to Stiles’s room.

“If that wasn’t answer enough, yes, Stiles knows,” he quietly tells Noah.

Shaking his head, Noah’s face makes it clear he’s not surprised. “You don’t need to-”

“I’ll dry, you wash?”

“Sounds good.”

They start the dishes, and he asks, “Everything okay at the station?”

“Yeah, today was pretty quiet. But I do need to go over Méndez’s report on last week’s robbery. Uh, hey.”

He looks over.

“Thanks. For doing all this today.”

“No problem.”

…

After they’re done with dishes, he knows he should probably leave, but instead, he sits down with Noah.

Putting on his reading glasses, Noah says, “I swear, there’s a supernatural reason why none of my deputies-”

“Excluding me.”

“Why none of my deputies can ever remember to use blue ink instead of black.”

“It’s a stupid rule, and you’ve said yourself Judge Samson should have better things to do than mandate and enforce it.”

“I agree with both, but I always remember. None of you do.”

“How many times did you forget when you were a deputy?”

“Well, luckily, we didn’t have Samson back then.”

“Nice dodge, sheriff.”

Noah laughs. “Yeah, I thought so, too.” Peering over his glasses before going back to the report, he says, “We did have to deal with A.D.A. Fisher-Prentiss, though, and you wouldn’t believe how many times-”

“I love you.”

Vaguely, he hears a thump, and of course, Stiles would use his werewolf boyfriend to spy.

Taking off his glasses and folding them, Noah looks at him, and he looks as vulnerable as Parrish feels.

“That’s a big declaration. You look ready to bolt.”

“Depending on how you react, I might.”

“Are you sure you fully understand what you’d be getting yourself into?”

“No. Of course not,” he answers. “That doesn’t change how I feel. I have no idea how or what might happen. Neither do you.”

“More bravery than sense, huh, Parrish?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t make much sense to keep wasting time just because I’m scared.”

“Yeah,” Noah breathes out. “I get that.” He kisses him, and when it breaks, not taking his hand off Parrish’s neck, he says, “I love you, too.”

Feeling everything settle inside, he presses his forehead against Noah’s.

…

Even though part of him would like to, they don’t have sex, and he knows they probably won’t until after Monday, but he does sleep in Noah’s bed.

Noah takes the day off to spend time with Stiles and Derek, and after his shift is over, he goes out to dinner with the three, and then, goes home with them.

He’s worried people at the station are going to start questioning why he and Sheriff Stilinski keep coming into work together, and if anyone unexpectedly drops over, there’s a good chance they’ll realise he isn’t sleeping on a couch or in a guestroom. He’s worried he’s accidentally going to address the sheriff by name or end up kissing him where everyone can see.

Despite these worries, he lets himself be happy. He’s found a great man who loves him, wants him, and treats him right. He’s found someone he wants who he can love and treat right.

…

Coming in over fifteen minutes late means an automatic two days on filing duty.

Sheriff Stilinski’s always been a fair boss, and he’ll usually let it slide if a person doesn’t make a habit of it. He’ll always listen if someone is willing to explain the reason for their lateness.

When he’d tried to suggest Parrish didn’t have to, Parrish had politely cut him off.

He could have gone to his apartment this morning, gotten ready, and been at the station on time. Instead, he’d enjoyed the attention of Noah’s talented mouth, rushed to his apartment to get ready, and ended up coming in twenty minutes late.

It’s a combination of both and neither of their faults.

He really needs to find a place closer to Noah’s, but all the potential options are too expensive.

Opening the stack of reports he just picked up to make sure they’re all in blue ink, he hears, “That’s Parrish. Sometimes, he’s on fire. Literally. And his eyes turn a yellow-orange colour.”

“Does that make him someone to avoid,” the nervous new deputy inquires.

“When it comes to anything supernatural, you call for backup, if you can, and you find a corner to hide in,” is the firm response. “You’re human, and your job is to deal with human issues. Otherwise, though, Parrish is a nice guy. Oh, yeah, just never insult the sheriff around him.”

“I wouldn’t, anyways, but: Why not?”

“They’re together.”

He tenses.

“Like romantically?”

“Yeah. Of course, Parrish had a huge case of hero worship before anything happened. They’ve been together for, at least, a year. We don’t say anything.”

He goes to Noah’s office.

Talking on the phone, Noah holds his hand up in acknowledgement. “I understand that, Natalie, but I can’t-” After a moment, Noah sighs. “Look, a deputy just walked in. Why don’t you call me after work? Yeah. You, too. Tell Lydia how proud we all are of her.”

Hanging up, he smiles. “Hey. Whatever your reason for coming in here, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I just overheard a conversation between Méndez and that new deputy. We’re not a secret.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, in that case, can we talk about the possibility of you moving in?”

There have been a few times when conversations with Noah have reminded him of having to deal with Stiles. This is definitely one of them.

“What?” He sits down.

Noah leans back. “I stopped worrying about others knowing a long time ago. Didn’t you?”

“I did right up until I found out they did. I don’t know how many know. I don’t know how long they’ve known. I don’t know why no one has said anything to either of us.”

“Do you think we can’t handle it if them knowing is bad?”

He considers the question. “I’d lay odds on us.”

Laughing, Noah says, “Good. Me, too.” He takes a breath. “Leaving this morning aside, do you remember the last time you slept at your apartment?”

“Last week. That garden snake got stuck in your pipes.”

Giving him an exasperated look, Noah clarifies, “By yourself?”

He realises, “No.”

He does remember the last time he _tried_ to sleep alone. There’d been a big argument, he’d spent until two something in the morning watching TV in his bed, and finally, he’d gone to Noah’s and slid into Noah’s bed. It still wasn’t anywhere near pleasant for either of them, but feeling the warmth from Noah’s nearby body and being able to smell him had helped him fall asleep.

“Trust me, I’m definitely not complaining. I’m glad I get to go to bed with you every night. But when you have a key, spend every night with me, and hardly ever go to your apartment even during weekends, well, that seems like a waste of money to me. We both could have gotten to work only a few minutes late if you had everything at the house. With everyone knowing, why not just make it official?”

“Does Stiles know about-”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. There’s a difference between you bringing a one-night stand home or even having a boyfriend or girlfriend staying over and someone actually moving into the house he grew up in. He lived there for almost nineteen years. For almost ten years, it was you, him, and his mom. He might move back in someday.”

“Well, he’s not bringing Derek, if he does.”

“You like Derek.”

“I’d like Derek a lot less if he didn’t use some of his family fortune to buy a nice house or condo for him and my son.”

“Fair.”

“I’ll call Stiles tonight. Alright?”

He nods.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the receptionists says, “Sheriff Stilinski, I just got a call saying there’s a bomb in Townsmen Bank.”

“Oh, hell,” Noah mutters.

He jumps up. “Okay. Nita, right?”

She nods.

“I need you to go talk to Deputy Lewis.” At her worried look, he adds, “Don’t worry. You’ve done everything right. We just need to get as much information about the phone call as we can.”

Once she’s heading in Lewis’s direction, he starts heading towards the vest locker.

“Hey.” Following, Noah grabs his arm. “You’re on filing duty.”

“If you want to put me on filing duty for an extra day after tomorrow, go ahead." Slipping the vest on, he continues, “You know one of us has to go in. Never mind the fact I’m HDT certified, if something happens to me, Stiles will get you through it. If something happens to you, we both know him killing me isn’t even a question. Can you imagine some of the ways he might do it, though? I can, and they scare me a whole hell of a lot more than a potential bomb.”

…

Thankfully, when they get there, everyone has been safely evacuated from the bank.

“Alright, Parrish is on lead. Méndez, if there’s trouble, you get our K9s out as fast as you can. Brown and Olson, you start taking statements. Hill, you’re with the sharp shooters.”

“If we do find something, I get first crack." He focuses on changing his eyes. “I’m not going to make any mistakes, but if something does go wrong, there’s a good chance I’ll survive it.”

One of the officers cocks his head. “How do you do that?”

“Usually, it’s not conscious.” Picking up his headgear, he looks over.

The sheriff nods.

He starts to turn.

“Hey, Jordan.”

He looks back over.

“Come back out. That goes for all of you.”

Starting to lead everyone in, it hits him: This is probably a prank, and if it’s not, the chances of him dying are still slim, but-

“Just a minute.”

Going back over and hoping he isn’t squandering precious seconds, he stops in front of Noah. “If Stiles is okay with it, my answer’s yes.”

Smiling, Noah says, “Good.”

Reaching over with his free hand, Parrish kisses him. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Turning, he puts his helmet on as he’s walking.

…

As they’re searching, Méndez asks, “Marriage or moving in?”

He glances over. “What?”

“You said yes to your boyfriend. So, marriage or moving in?”

“Moving in.”

“Want me, Rico, and Georgiana to help you sort what you’re taking and pack?”

“How do you know it’s me doing the moving?”

Méndez scoffs.

“Section 3, clear,” Cash radios in.

“Because, I’ve been to your apartment. I don’t care how much the sheriff loves you, he wouldn’t be moving into a dump like that when he has a nice house in the suburbs, and he wouldn’t be giving it up to try to find a different one.”

“It’s nice to know you don’t care, but you could have said something.” Turning on his flashlight, he kneels down and starts checking underneath desks.

Leading the K9s and visually checking the desktops, Méndez responds, “Oh, but I do care. I was a kid when the sheriff was Deputy Stilinski. He risked his life to save my big brother. And you, you helped get this town back under control when those loco hunters were trying to take over. As long as you were both happy, what was there to say? If either of you needed or wanted us to know, you’d tell us.”

“Section 5, clear,” Morrison radios in.

…

There is no bomb.

Stiles’s response is, “Wait, what do you mean you two haven’t already moved in?”

Méndez and some others help him move.

When he first came to Beacon Hills, he was excited the first time he paid rent on his apartment. He felt like the luckiest guy alive to have a place of his own.

Now, lying here with Noah wrapped around him, he’s glad he got to experience all that, but he also recognises the fact he truly had no idea back then about how much happier and luckier he could be.    


End file.
